I’m feeling a little down. Next time I’m awake at 3am I’m calling you. I’ll be tearful about losing people and things and moments – my voice will be a little ragged. I’ll be calling to talk about this bruised thing inside me that aches and pulses with loss for things I still have. I’m calling just so I can hear your wooly, knitted voice murmur things like god and love and . . . what else will you say? Faith? Joy? Pain? I’ll listen to your words and the spaces between them trying to find my way back to something. Trying to find a pinprick of light. I will tell you how sometimes at night I sit in the hallway and listen to my daughter breathing. How in the middle of night I reach out in a panic to touch my husband’s warm back. And maybe you will whisper, ‘Me too. Me too’.
So, I’m feeling a little down and a little lost and a little in need of your light. I need to hear about the funny things, the crazy things, the things that are not so harsh and so real. Whisper to me about hamburgers and chocolate cake. Or the secret life of sororities. Or grandchildren with honey tangled in their hair. Or friends. Let’s talk about friends. Let’s talk about strong women. Pass the tissues for happy tears. Because I really just can’t stand seeing all these people I love in a moment of imagined pain. I’m on my second box of Girl Scout cookies and I need a little help.